


Life in Color

by candyvan



Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, F/M, Healthy Relationships, Mental Health Issues, Rewrite, Season 1 Compliant, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candyvan/pseuds/candyvan
Summary: What if Rebecca really DID just move to West Covina because she needed a change and Josh just happened to be there?An exploration on how Rebecca's relationships would be changed if she was sincere and honest from the very beginning.





	Life in Color

“Hi,” the voice crackles against her ear; the call she ignored during her meeting with a client has turned into a pesky voicemail. Rebecca half listens, hoisting the phone between her shoulder and jaw while she sets about making a cup of coffee. “My name is Sandra Linetti and I have only one question for you- are you happy?”

 The steady flow of creamer stills in her hands at that. Something sharp zings through her entire body, every nerve suddenly on edge.

 Rebecca drops the creamer and grabs for a better hold on her phone, pressing it against her ear as if the words will grant her the secret to euphoria.

 It’s probably a diet pill salesperson. Those stupid things never work. She’ll definitely buy it anyway, just to be safe...

 Rebecca creeps back into her office, coffee left forgotten on the counter. She’ll send her assistant out to get her a better cup from her favorite place a few blocks away as soon as he’s back from filing those court cases.

 “I’m working with a very promising and growing firm in West Covina, California!”

 Ah. Rebecca scoffs to herself. A headhunter. These calls aren’t new to her; Boston and Chicago are always trying to lure her away with bonuses and raises, with pretty words about new cities and great changes and exciting career opportunities.

 They’re all the same level of foolish. Rumors have been swirling for _weeks_ that Laura is going to promote her to Junior Partner, the youngest in the history of her current firm. Why would Rebecca risk her mother’s ire by leaving? Why would she sacrifice everything she’s worked toward when her dream is in her grasp?

 Still. She’s never gotten a call from, she quickly googles, Southern California before. Do they even have real lawyers out there? Everyone is surely too _relaxed_ and _chill_ and **_happy_** to bother suing one another, right?

 Something about the town name, West Covina, keeps her on the line. It sounds so familiar, for some reason. Is it famous for some movie? Was it involved in a court case? She just can’t put her finger on it.

 Rebecca relaxes into her chair, listening to Sandra Linettie’s high pitched voice excitedly gab about the town. 2 hours from the beach, 4 if there’s traffic. Friendly people. Relaxed living. A change of pace from the cut throat, hustle and bustle of New York.

 They can’t offer her an increase in salary. In fact, they can’t even match her current salary. She almost hangs up right there, laughing at the incredulity of it all. Instead, she spins in her chair to look out her window at the city she’s known all her life. The skyscrapers stretch on for miles, caught against the backdrop of a cloudy day. Everything is gray. Everything is cold. It’s home. It’s the only life she’s ever known.

 Her eyes catch on a large poster stapled to the side of a building. Workers are hanging onto scaffolding as they try to get the sign to stick to the clear windows in such brisk weather.

  _When was the last time you were ever truly happy?_ the sign asks her, text layered over an image of a woman spreading butter over a piece of toast.

 “What a weird ad campaign,” Rebecca mutters, just as Sarah says, “West Covina can be a real change for you, Ms. Bunch. It can be a whole new chance at happiness.”

 Rebecca stops at that. What is up with that _word_ today? What is up with the world today?

 She hits the end call button, throws her phone across her desk, and turns her back to the intruding, eyesore of an advertisement.

 She has work to do. She can’t waste time with the silly daydreams and fantasies that are already intruding upon her subconscious mind. Rebecca grabs for the Xanax prescription bottle at the bottom of her purse.

 And why should she fantasize at all, actually? After all, this is what happiness feels like.

 ~*~

 She lasts until 3 am, spiraling hard and fast into the dark void of the internet. The laptop screen is the only light in her apartment; she has twenty tabs open, showing pictures of the beach, the sun, research studies on how Vitamin D improves mood and mental health, and details about the California lifestyle.

 Each picture has smiling, tan, gorgeous people splashed across them. They're all laughing and eating kale. It’s surreal. It all seems like a different world.

 In her world, she just feels small and inferior and anxious and unworthy and, when she’s not feeling all of those, she just feels numb. No one in these pictures on her laptop looks numb.

 She wants to snap all her bones at the joints and take herself apart, fold herself into something new so she never has to feel like this again. Picking up her cell phone seems easier.

 Rebecca drinks three glasses of wine in quick succession before getting the courage to hit ‘call’.

 It’s midnight in California but she’s greeted with a curious ‘hello?’ anyway, “Hi, Sarah, this is Rebecca Bunch. I just got your call about the West Covina offer, and I’d love to hear more about it.”

~*~ 

Darryl Whitefeather is nothing like anyone she has ever met before, but so are all of the people of this quaint little town. They all wear loose fitting clothes and smile easily at her. They all have color in their cheeks and a certain light in their eyes.

 When Darryl shakes Rebecca’s hand, it feels like a new beginning. When Paula shakes her hand, it feels like a new home.

 “I still don’t understand why you would move here. The only reason I moved here was for the schools. Anywhere else and I think my boys would already be in prison!” Paula says, showing her around hew new office. “I think that head hunter laughed in Darryl’s face when he gave her his _Dream Attorney List_.”

 Rebecca smiles easily back at her. She can sense an air of suspicion around Paula, and in a way, she guesses she can understand. It’s not every day someone turns down a 545k salary to move to a town that’s not even on a map.

 “Sarah thought it was a prank when I called her back,” Rebecca admits, laughing as she remembers the woman’s incredulous reply: _Are you sure?_ But right now this feels like the only thing Rebecca’s been sure about in her life. “But, I don’t know. I just needed a change. I wasn’t happy where I was. Darryl’s offer almost felt like, I don’t know, a sign?”

 “Honey, if you think this change is gonna make you happy, you’re sorely mistaken. West Covina is kind of like purgatory.”

 Rebecca doesn’t like hearing that; the anxiety that’s been curled around her spine ever since she sold her loft tightens like a noose. She says, more to remind Paula than herself, “I can always move back if I’m not happy, but I figured I owed it to myself to try, you know?”

 Paula grips her hand. It feels foreign and motherly all at once. “I think you’re really brave,” she says, squeezing it.

 Paula takes her to Home Depot and they laugh together as they pick out paint colors and wallpaper for a feature wall. She supplies the Chinese food and wine and they stay up until midnight making every paint line perfect.

 When they’re done, Rebecca flops against her hardwood floor with a content sigh. Her loft had been white. White walls, dark floors, white furniture. Even her life had just been monochrome; in California, everything is colorful and vibrant, just like she wants to be. Maybe if she can surround herself with enough colors, they’ll seep inside her until she stops being gray too.

 “Thank you so much, Paula,” she says, taking the last sip of wine. “This would’ve taken so long for me to do without you. You’re an angel.”

 “Please,” Paula waves her off. She has paint splotches on her face and clothes; Rebecca makes a mental note to take her on a shopping spree this weekend. Maybe they can go to lunch and get facials too! That’s what friends do, isn’t it? The only “friend” she’s ever had was Audra Levine, and she definitely doesn’t need another one of those in her life. Hostility doesn’t really foster happiness. “It gave me an excuse to get out of my mad house! And I couldn’t let you live in something so… depressing.”

 Rebecca almost opens her mouth to make a comment about Paula cleaning out her brain, but she doesn’t think they’re that close yet.

 Instead, she reaches over to grab a carton of orange chicken.

 “I’m thinking about doing Yoga,” she says between bites. “That’s what Californians do, right?”

 Paula makes a face, “I guess. As long as you don’t drink those gross green smoothies or refuse to eat donuts, I’m cool with it.”

 Rebecca makes another mental note to google _gross green smoothies_. California is truly an entirely new world.

~*~

Work has always come easily to Rebecca. Ever since she was young, it’s been second nature to slip into the monotony of a task, especially if she knows the material well.

 She settles into her new office life fine. She brings in big clients, helps Darryl and his wife negotiate a good custody agreement for Madison, and finds loopholes in even the tightest of contracts. It’s almost laughably easy compared to her job in New York. Rebecca runs on autopilot most days, only looking up from her work to laugh with Paula over coffee and donuts.

 It’s the rest of life at West Covina that makes it hard to settle in. Unfortunately, she’s never been the best at making friends. She has Paula, of course, and Paula is practically saintly. They’ve only known each other for a week but Rebecca doesn’t know how she lasted 26 years without her.

 She listens to her, watches tv with her, and keeps her head above water, but Paula is also a busy mother who can’t stay out until 3 am or else her family will starve.

 “Just two more episodes until the season finale!” Rebecca whines at her, throwing popcorn at her friend’s back. They’ve spent their Saturday curled up on Rebecca’s new couch in her new home in her new life watching The Wire.

 “Trust me, Cookie, I am just as agonized as you,” Paula says, hitting the ignore button on her phone. Scott’s smiling face fades into the darkness of Paula’s lock screen. “But it’s 10 pm and my husband doesn’t know how to order a damn pizza without me.”

 “But what will _I_ do without you?” she asks, half joking and half serious. Without work or Paula to keep her busy, who knows what will happen to her precariously balanced psyche? After she flushed her abundance of medication and mood stabilizers, her brain feels like foreign land to her. Things she’s buried and numbed have been slowly floating out of the fog of sleep.

 She’s been casually considering looking for a therapist. Maybe she was a tiny bit hasty in quitting her medication cold turkey. Rebecca could have at least kept the Xanax, surely?

 “Aw, hun,” Paula coos at her. She reaches forward and grabs Rebecca’s chin, holding it gently in her soft hand. Paula leans forward and presses a quick kiss to her forehead; the touch alone radiates more love and care than her own mother has ever deigned touch her with. Rebecca almost leans forward, a familiar ache radiating from her chest at the loss of touch. “You’ll be fine. You’re young and you’ve got those huge meat sacks strapped to your chest. You should be out finding some hottie to keep you busy tonight! Not curled up with me on a sofa.”

 Rebecca grabs Paula’s hand, winks and asks innocently, “What if you’re the only hottie I need?”

 “If only my husband would talk to me like that,” Paula sighs longingly, swiping her hand away. “There’s a farmers market downtown tomorrow; I’ll pick you up at 8 and we can go together?”

 “Yes. Perfect. Lovely. Beautiful. Wonderful.” Rebecca squeaks, delighted that Paula isn’t tired of her yet, ecstatic that she hasn’t chased away her only friend. “Now, back to this hottie business. Where’s good in town to find one?”

 Paula places her hands over her heart, tears in her eyes, “God, you’re like the daughter I always wanted.”

~*~

Home Base was low on Paula’s long list of recommended places, but it was the only one that Rebecca could actually remember the name to. Her friend was in such a hurry to get back to her family that she felt too anxious to ask for her to repeat herself.

As it is, she thinks she overdressed. She’s wearing a dress in a place that looks like it’s never seen a dress before; her breasts are pushed exorbitantly forward and her ribcage is vacuum sucked so tight into spandex she has trouble breathing.

 This is fine. This is what being pretty feels like. Beauty is pain and all that jazz.

Still, she’s invested too much time into this evening and her phone doesn’t have good reception out here so she can’t google another alternative.

The inside of Home Base looks exactly like what the outside would suggest. The entire dining area is circled around a U-shaped bar, telling her everything she needs to know about what this place values. It’s around 11 pm and thus too late for her to complain about the issue of alcoholism in America so she saddles up to a stool and waits patiently for the bartender to turn around.

The place is empty save for her; only the low hum of ESPN and the ice machine fill the air with noise.

His eyes pop when he turns to see her, big, brown, expressive things that tell her everything he’s thinking as it passes through his mind. The things this man wants to do to her cleavage make her warm inside, even if it’s wrong to thrive on the attention of men in such a patriarchal society and she shouldn’t base her attractiveness on how many men deem her fuckable.

But it’s nice to be appreciated by someone as cute as the guy in front of her.

“You look a bit lost,” he says as soon as he starts breathing again. “But I’m not saintly enough to give you directions.”

“Oh?” she asks, leaning forward. “Why’s that?”

“Simple; you’ll leave and then I’ll be committed because no one will believe me about the drop-dead gorgeous hallucination I’m clearly having right now.”

She finds herself laughing despite herself. It’s always a surprise to her when cute men are genuinely funny; she almost has to pinch herself to stop her from picturing them sitting on a blanket in a park by a lake with a rowboat.

“Interesting,” Rebecca grins at him, “And is holding a woman against her will your _usual_ flirting technique, or am I just special?”

He winces at that, hands twitching so fast he almost drops the drinking glass he was holding.

“Yikes. Okay, when you put it like that, not my smoothest line,” he amends. There’s a twinkle in his eye and a twitch of his lips that make Rebecca want to lean closer. “I’m sorry, I momentarily forget men are disgusting.”

She wants to roll her eyes. Instead, she says, “Yep, but you’re cute so I’ll give you a second chance.”

“I think that’s how most serial killers end up with their victims.”

“Wow, I’m truly at a loss. Do I accuse you of being a serial killer or mock you for messing up again?”

He shrugs, winks at her, “I figure I’m cute enough for you to give me a third chance.”

He’s right, of course, but damned if she’s going to let him know that.

“Quite a risk you’re taking,” she beams. It feels too weird to be having this conversation, too normal, too easy. She almost doesn’t want to believe in it, but the warm eyes of the man in front of her keep the anxiety from festering in her soul, at least for now. “I think I’ll make it easier on you: My name’s Rebecca.”

“Greg. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before, which is weird considering how small this town is.”

It does feel small, but not in a bad way, not like how Greg says it with a sneer. It’s not cramped and tiny; it’s like she’s lost weight and went down a shirt size. It’s like she’s fitting into something new she never thought she could before. It’s like one of those miniature cookies that taste better because the chocolate ratio is off.

“You probably haven’t,” Rebecca says instead because this doesn’t seem like the type of guy she spills her soul to without being scoffed at. “I just moved here a week ago from New York City.”

Greg’s eyes get even bigger than when he saw her cleavage, “New York? Oh man, I love the city. It’s always been my dream to go there. What on Earth made you want to leave?”

She opens her mouth but he doesn’t give her a chance to answer, teasing, “Was it trouble with the mob? You can tell me. I’m part Italian. I’m sure I have some distant relative that can help.”

This time, she does roll her eyes at him, “Nothing quite as exciting. No, just, the craziest thing! This headhunter called me up out of nowhere…”

Greg watches her hands as she talks; it should make her nervous but the way he smiles slightly to himself floods her with warmth.

“Well,” he says, setting a glass down on the counter. “I think you’re insane. Seriously, who’d give up New York for this dump? We’re four hours from the beach. People say two, but those people are dumb.”

“Here, let’s not look at it like giving up New York!” Rebecca grins at him. “Let’s see it as me picking up happiness. See what I did there?”

“Yeah. I’m sure you’re a great lawyer but there’s no way you’re convincing a jury of that,” Greg rolls his eyes.

She doesn't really like the way Greg’s comments make her feel as if he’s looking down at her and judging her, but she shoves it down. It’s good practice for the impending phone call she’ll be getting from her mother as soon as she stops putting off updating her Facebook.

“Good thing I’m not on trial then,” she says lightly. “Hey, do you have any? Plans? After work? Maybe you could show me around town.”

That seems to stop him short, “Are you sure? You’re sorta… How do I say this? Out of my league?”

Rebecca feels warm again and it’s enough to get her over the way his bitterness made her feel only seconds ago, “What does that mean?”

“You’re pretty and smart and not ignoring me. That’s already better than most girls I decide to date.”

She wants to dig more into that comment about ignoring him, but she’s not really here to be this guy’s therapist. All she wants is a drink, and maybe some insider tips on where to find the best taco truck, and maybe she’d be interested in some bedroom time. She’s a simple girl.

“I mean, if you want to talk me out of buying you a drink, that’s fine.”

There’s a long second where Greg considers her, eyes squinted as he bites his lip. She may make her eyes bigger, may stick out her chest just the slightest. Rebecca knows how to look like an innocent girl when it suits her interest. “I would love to, seriously, you don’t know how much I would love to, but I have to take my dad to a doctor’s appointment super early tomorrow, and I know if I go out with you tonight I’m probably not going to make it.”

“Ugh, no one wants their bartender to be responsible,” she teases him. She would be more upset at the rejection, but the concern in his voice when he talks about his father smooths that over. It’s clearly not just a lie to get her out of his hair. To turn down her offer looks physically painful for him.

Besides. She gets it. She’s certain if her mother hadn’t selfishly kept her from forming a relationship with her own father she’d be the same. She lets herself imagine it briefly, holding his hand at doctor’s appointments, counting out his medications… She should call him and see if he needs anyone to take care of him. Maybe he has some weird, rare illness and needs bone marrow? That’s what a good, caring daughter would do, certainly? That’s normal, right?

“Um,” Greg brings her back to the present, “But I’m not doing anything tomorrow night? If you’ll still be interested?”

Rebecca bites her lip, momentarily considering stringing him along, pretending to have another hot date lined up, but that’s something she would do in New York. She wants to be real here, in West Covina; she wants the chance to be as authentic as the sunshine.

So she says yes and gives Greg her phone number. It surprises her when she’s back in her car and she already has a text from him. She expected him to try to play it suave and cool, to do that thing where they pretend to not be interested in each other so one of them can have the upper hand.

But he texts her. _“Thank you for signing up for West Covina Facts! Did you know most people born here also die here? Remarkable! Text 91791 to unsubscribe from West Covina Facts.”_

Rebecca lets the laugh tumble out of her, even knowing that he’s watching her through the windows. She texts back _91791_ and throws her phone in her purse.

By the time she gets home, she has three more texts.

 

 

Rebecca’s heart stutters in her chest. All the warmth from his eyes on hers comes back like a punch to the gut, sending her sprawling, sighing, against the door behind her.  

West Covina definitely feels like the best decision of her life. 

~*~

She does eventually find a yoga class that she can fit into her schedule. The thing is- Yoga is hard? Who would have known? The lovely woman that taught her pole dancing class had told her that she would be amazing at Yoga! Rebecca almost calls her up on principle just to yell at her.

Instead, she focuses on keeping her bridge pose held up in the air. She thinks she’s developing a butt cramp but refuses the muscle’s rebellion outright.

Her yoga instructor can’t possibly be a real person, right? She’s tall with gorgeous thick hair. Her body is taut and toned in ways Rebecca didn’t think were real outside of magazines. She probably prefers anal and orgasms instantly and she definitely doesn’t seem like the type to be afraid of clowns and trains.

Her dad probably definitely didn’t leave her.

After class she’s a drenched, sweating mess. Everyone else leaving the studio is as dry as the weather outside; maybe it’s the East Coast in her, why she’s rain when everyone else is sun.  

Rebecca taps a towel at her face, making a nose at the stench of her own body odor.

She should just leave; she promised Paula they’d meet at her house later tonight and she still has to take a shower, but something about the woman in front of her draws her in. It’s like she’s an asteroid, caught in her orbit, and can’t help but feel obsess- interested in her. Yeah, that’s a better synonym.

The yoga instructor, Valencia, as the time slot online had said, is messing with her iPhone when Rebecca walks over to her, always the teacher’s pet.

“Wow!” she says, making her face dramatic and personable. People seem to respond better to her when she does that. “What a great class! You know, I used to take Yoga in New York but they just don’t seem to understand the- the air of it or the meaning like you do, you know?”

Valencia turns to her and Rebecca can see a flash of hesitation on her face before she slips under a polite mask, “Oh, thank you! That’s so sweet.”

She eyes the sweat seeping into Rebecca’s shirt like it’s a frightful tsunami and her smile seems to become elastic, “Are you _sure_ you’ve taken a Yoga class before?”

Yikes. That hit lands somewhere Rebecca is quick to ignore.

“Yeah! Yeah, in, uh, college? So it’s been a few years, but I just moved here so I thought! Why not be a real Californian, right?”

“Right,” Valencia agrees politely. “Good idea.”

“Yeah!” Rebecca says again, cringing at her own goobishness. “Yeah, so I’m going to buy a 20 pack of classes on my way out. I’m kinda gonna be your sugar momma.”

She tries to wink but it may look like she’s just suffered a stroke if Valencia’s face is any measure.

She sighs, finally giving Rebecca her full attention, “God, I wish. I only rent this space from the gym so I have to give them 50% of each of my sales, which sucks but I can’t really complain, not until I own my own studio, at least.”

Real estate! Yes! Her in!

“Your own studio!” Rebecca gushes; her heart ticks up and her lungs expand almost too fast to actually inhale any air. Even to her, her voice sounds too pitchy. “Valencia, that’s a great idea. I-I’m actually a lawyer, I went to Harvard and Yale, no big deal, and real estate is my specialty! I could get you a great studio at a fantastic price!”

There it is. The hesitation and panic flash across Valencia’s face, arms crossing over her chest tightly, little fists digging into her own sides, but the mask slips on and Rebecca almost doesn’t notice that she’s dealing with a frightened woodland creature.

“Why would you want to do that?” Valencia asks quickly, voice low.

“Building small businesses, investing in the local economy, making people’s dreams come true- it’s everything I wanted to move to a small town to do,” she says easily, with a gentle shrug.

It takes a few seconds, but Valencia finally agrees with her. They exchange numbers and agree to lunch sometime next week. Rebecca has to check with herself to reign things in before she becomes too weird and dramatic.

Dr. Akopian is quick to assure her that she’s acting normal.

“You’re being sincere and genuine,” she says kindly. “Your excitement is coming from a good place. There’s nothing wrong with being enthusiastic about making friends. You are a good, brilliant person and I’m sure once this woman gets the chance to see the real you, she’d love to be your friend. You have a lot to offer people, Rebecca.”

“I just don’t want to drive her away,” Rebecca admits, fiddling with a loose thread on her work skirt. “I have a way of doing that.”

“I know things haven’t worked out in the past, but this is different. You’re in a better place,” Akopian smiles at her. She leans forward, presses a hand to Rebecca’s knee, “Now, let’s talk some more about your childhood.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes.

Her therapist is worth the money Rebecca pays her, even if she refuses to prescribe her any of her previous medications and insists on actually _talking_ about her past traumas. Damn these Californians and their holistic lifestyles.

Still. Rebecca finds herself actually enjoying her feelings again. In California, it’s almost easier to be happy. Feeling her feelings instead of numbing them seems like a realistic option for her rather than a pipe dream.

It’s why she’s sitting at a table outside a vegetarian restaurant 10 minutes early with boxed water held in her shaky hands.

Rebecca has to remind herself that even if things with Valencia don’t go the way she wants them to, at least she’ll have tried. And at least she’ll have helped someone get closer to their happiness.

In the end, Rebecca’s worries are almost pointless. After a rocky beginning of awkward pauses and missteps, Rebecca finds herself relaxing around Valencia. The longer she talks to her, the more she realizes that Valencia is more than an attractive woman. Almost, as if by magic, Valencia becomes a fully realized person before her eyes.

They get the property on East Cameron. It’s perfect for Valencia’s studio dreams. They’re so excited over the success that the two end up hugging and it feels natural for Rebecca to invite her back to her home to celebrate.

“I have a bottle of rosé I’ve been meaning to open since I moved in!”

Valencia seems hesitant, but after a quick second of staring at Rebecca’s eager smile, she agrees, “I don’t normally drink wine, too many calories, but, what the hell! Let’s celebrate!”

After a few glasses, they find themselves on the back porch, reclining on chairs that Paula brought over for her the other day. The dry heat of California is perfect. In New York, she never would have been able to sit on her patio, drinking wine, staring up at the night stars.

“I love you,” Valencia says with a gentle sigh, eyes closed as the moon casts an almost heavenly glow upon her perfect complexion.

“I love you too,” Rebecca giggles.

“I never thought I could be like this, with like, a girl, you know? I’ve never been good at girlfriends. The last time I had a solid crew was back in high school, and even then they were more frenemies than anything.”

“I hear that,” Rebecca says, taking a long sip. “Audra Levine. She’s been my frenemy since we were in diapers. You know, I don’t understand why women let our patriarchal society dictate how we can interact with each other? It’s such a misogynistic myth that women can’t get along and it makes zero sense. Like, look at you! You’re a gorgeous, strong woman, _and_ a natural leader; I hate that my immediate reaction was to be intimidated by you!”

“You get, like, super wordy when you’re tipsy,” Valencia laughs. “But you’re right! You came into my studio with that stupid Harvard shirt and I felt like an idiot. When you started talking to me I was _sure_ you were judging me. But no, you’re just really interesting and amazing and so incredibly nice, yet fierce? Like, the way you were talking to that real estate agent? I’ve always been afraid to be fierce like that. I’m so glad I went to lunch instead of just ghosting you like I do with my other clients.”

Rebecca lets herself bask in that for a second, the warmth and approval from Valencia given to her so freely, before she quickly swings up, setting her glass down on the patio at her feet, “See, this is why there’s a pay gap!”

There’s a noise from her neighbor’s backyard; Rebecca worries that she’s been too loud again, as she gets like that when she’s drinking; a head pops up over the fence wall.

“Oh my god,” says the girl, voice monotone and disinterested. Her hair is curly and dyed pink like Rebecca’s always wanted to try but never had the courage to attempt. “Are you two talking about white feminism? I love it.”

Her voice doesn’t change tone. Like. At all. Rebecca is stuck on that for a few seconds before shaking her head, flabbergasted, “Uh, excuse me, but my feminism is always intersectional.”

“Mmm. Okay. Sure, white lady,” she says, shrugging. “Oh, is that rosé?”

The girl disappears before Rebecca can even answer. Then, in an impressive feat of strength, she watches the stranger climb up the fence dividing them before hopping over it. There she stands, tall while still slouching, cool and still disinterested. The very aura around her makes Rebecca yearn for her approval but still reminds her that seeking approval from strangers isn’t, like, chill like at all, brah. She’s everything Rebecca has always wanted to be.

“Hi, I’m Heather. I’ll be stealing all of your wine.”

She finds herself not minding. It’s a good thing Rebecca keeps extra bottles around just in case she starts having emotional breakdowns.

It’s a weird feeling, sharing these bottles with people rather than her sadness. She definitely likes this one more.

They pull up a dining room chair and place Heather in between them. Two of them are slightly tipsy, and Heather doesn’t seem to care about anything, ever, so they slip back into an easy lull of conversations, hopping from one topic to the next, enthusiastically following and nodding along.

“Ugh, this is so great,” Valencia says around 2 am, her glass forgotten next to her. She lays with her eyes closed as if at any moment she is at risk of falling asleep. “Maybe being single isn’t so bad. I never would’ve done this if I was still dating Josh.”

“Oh! I used to date someone named Josh!” Rebecca jumps up, excited, once again, to have a bridge between her and Valencia. Now they can bond even more! “I swear, all guys named Josh are the worst.”

It feels like a lie to say. Sure, the end was terrible, and the way Josh left kept her a heartbroken mess for months, but not all of it was bad.

Whatever. It was ten years ago. It shouldn’t matter anymore.

“Josh is, like, the universal worst guy name,” Heather agrees. “Zeke is second.”

Rebecca’s never met anyone named Zeke, so she can’t really bond about that, but she appreciates Heathers’ contribution nonetheless.

“He’s not that bad,” Valencia says slowly, trying the words on her tongue like she’s practicing letting go of her anger and hurt. “We started dating in middle school. We’ve sorta been off and on since then. He moved to New York a few months ago but we didn’t want to do the long distance thing.”

“Well,” Rebecca starts, unsure where she’s going but certain she’ll find the way. “If he didn’t worship you like the goddess you clearly are then he didn’t deserve you.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Heather says, holding up her glass. Rebecca half-heartedly joins her, knowing she’ll be nursing a headache tomorrow. Valencia doesn’t even pretend to reach for her glass.

“You’re right,” Valencia says. “But it still hurts. He’s like part of me or something, you know? We grew up together. He’s been texting me more often, lately. I think he’s thinking about moving back here.”

“Are you going to give him a second chance?” Rebecca asks, thinking of her own Josh. If he just appeared out of nowhere, holding roses, telling her he was sorry for what he had done so long ago, what would she do? She can’t imagine being in Valencia’s position.

“I don’t know,” she admits, sounding smaller than she should. “He was so childish and immature last time we dated, but he’s been to New York, now. He must’ve grown up a bit, right?"

Rebecca thinks of the cold streets of New York City, of the gray cloud that seeped into her skin and turned everything numb.

“Probably,” is all she says.

She takes another drink.

~*~

Almost as if overnight, Rebecca’s life in West Covina sorta becomes… perfect?

It feels wrong to think it, like as if at any second she’ll wake up from a precious dream and be forced back into a skyscraper in New York.

Until she wakes up though, she’s content to enjoy everything this dream has to offer.

“I still can’t believe your friends with Valencia of all people,” Greg says, taking a sip of the scotch he brought over.

She and Greg have been quasi-dating for a few weeks now. Things have been light and casual, and Rebecca wants more but she’s afraid to ask. Dr. Akopian thinks she should focus on settling in town and on her mental health before committing to something as big as a serious relationship, but being with Greg makes her feel warm and anchored and like she belongs.

She hasn’t had that feeling in so long. She’s almost desperate to keep it.

 _“And that’s why you shouldn’t pursue this,”_ Dr. Akopian had said when she revealed that. “ _This can very quickly turn from something fun and healthy into a serious setback for you. You need to find happiness within yourself first, or else you’re being with people for the wrong reasons.”_

 _“What reasons could that be?”_ Rebecca asked, eyebrows drawn tight. Why could love possibly be a bad thing?

_“Because you’re afraid of being alone.”_

“Hey, Valencia is incredible. I won’t have you bad talking her in my home,” Rebecca grins at him.

“Fine,” says Greg. “We’ll move this party to my home.”

Rebecca pointedly rolls her eyes and Greg sighs at her, “Sorry. Habit. Her ex has been my best friend since kindergarten, so I kinda have to be on his side.”

“Oh, you mean Josh?” Rebecca asks, “She told me about him. Sounds like a real stand-up guy.”

Greg shrugs, “He has some growing up to do, sure, but Josh is a great guy. If anything, Valencia was the toxic one in that relationship. Did she tell you that she had to approve every item of clothing he bought? That’s crazy.”

She did, and even Rebecca had to pause at that.

“I don’t really like that word,” she says instead, not wanting to pick a fight about this.

Josh is in New York, so what does it even matter? She’s not going to expect Greg to turn on his best friend just because he hurt Rebecca’s.

“What, is it too ableist for you?”

She really doesn’t like the mocking tone he’s using. She wants to blame it on the scotch in his hand, but she knows Greg pretty well at this point. He is biting and sarcastic and as bitter as he is kind.

It feels wrong to show herself to him, to rip herself open and make herself vulnerable, especially when he’s drinking, but she’s being _better_. She’s trying to _heal_. She can’t move forward if she bottles everything up and tries to numb it.

She can’t have a healthy relationship with Greg if she forces herself to be a prepackaged Barbie doll, a perfect being made of plastic with no real feelings.

“Yes,” she finds herself saying, throat convulsing around the word so it comes out stilted and awkward. “I- I’ve struggled with my mental health in the past and that word has been used against me a lot. I don’t like it. It hurts me and makes me feel bad.”

She likes to think Dr. Akopian would be proud of her use of “I” language.

Greg seems to freeze at that, like prey catching the scent of a predator. They haven't talked about serious things. The deepest they’ve gotten is their shared history of divorced parents and brushing on the topic of Marco’s health concerns.

This feels too deep, too raw, too real, too much. She has always been made to feel like too much. She doesn’t want to feel like that in West Covina, and she definitely doesn’t want to feel like that around Greg.

After a long second, Greg opens his mouth. She tenses, waiting for everything she has ever heard before when men in her life learn who she really is, begs for the blow of pain to be swift, but all Greg says is, “Okay. I’m sorry. I never want to hurt you and I won’t say that word again.”

It’s not even that he says it, it’s the way he says it, as easy as breathing, as if it’s just pure instinct. She’s never had that before. She’s never been able to open up without being torn apart. Never has she revealed pieces of herself and been met with acceptance.

She never thought she could have something like this, so gentle and mature and real.

Rebecca doesn’t even think; she falls forward and presses her lips against his. She kisses him and it feels revolutionary.

She doesn’t care what Dr. Akopian says; she loves Greg so much that she’s forgotten what hating herself has ever felt like. She violently, viscerally hates that her whole life has been a cumulation of experiences that make this feel so foreign.

He touches her like a prayer for which no words exist. She knows how to be rejected intimately well; being accepted and respected feels too dangerous to get used to, but Greg makes her want to try.

~*~

When Rebecca finally does meet Josh Chan, four months after she packed up her entire life and moved to West Covina, all she can do is laugh.

Of course. That’s why West Covina felt so familiar to her when that headhunter called her. That’s why Valencia’s complaints of her ex-boyfriend felt so startlingly familiar.

It seems so impossible and so unreal. It seems like fate has brought them together again, like they’re written in the stars and no matter what happens, they’ll find their way back to each other.

And then Valencia comes in after him, entwines her fingers between his, and gently kisses his cheek with a smile more blissful than she’s ever seen. Greg’s arm is a warm weight on Rebecca’s shoulders as he joins her at the counter, pressing her close to him with a quick kiss to her forehead.

“I’d give anything to move somewhere that doesn’t have traffic,” he says to her, shocking her out of the hole she’s digging in her mind.

It takes her a second to remember that Greg is a real person in her life, that he held her close while she spilled her heart out, that she gripped him tight when she picked him up from jail the morning after his DUI. They’ve been through so much together, not just good times, but bad as well. He’s seen the best and worst parts of her and has always picked both.

“Josh, Rebecca. Rebecca, Josh,” Greg introduces them, drawing Josh’s attention away from Valencia’s eyes.

Josh turns to her, all smiles and warmth, but then the sight of her causes him to turn pale like he’s been left in the washer too long, like his colors have run. His brown eyes are wide with confusion, mouth parted dumbly as he stutters out her name.

She waits for it. The punch to the gut. The rush of oxytocin to hit her like a freight train. The universe to fall open and leave nothing but them, but nothing happens. Nothing about him feels familiar. She remembers sitting under the stars with his hand on his thigh, but that feels like a different life, like the memories of a different person.

Surrounded by her friends, Rebecca can’t help but laugh again, twisted under the ludicrousness of it all.

Joshua Felix Chan doesn’t exist anymore, certainly not as she remembers him, and she thanks every deity in their universe that she doesn’t either. Ten years is too long. The boy she loved once, who showed her unspeakable tenderness and happiness, is gone. She can see how she could have loved him, back then, remembers his hand on her thigh under a night lit with stars, but that’s not who she is anymore.

She leans against Greg, a comforting anchor at her side, and smiles, “Josh Chan! It’s been decades!”

His face cracks, relief pouring out into a smile that she’s certain would’ve made her heart stutter years ago.

“Rebecca! This is so crazy. What are you doing here?”

Greg tenses at her side; she’s not sure if it’s from their familiarity or the word which she hates being thrown around so casually. Rebecca squeezes his hand delicately, feels him relax minutely against her.

“Wait,” Valencia presses a still hand to his arm, “You two _know_ each other?”

Her face goes gaunt, realization setting in. Her Josh and Valencia’s, the ones they’ve bonded over, are one in the same.

“Yeah, forever ago. We dated for, what, a month and a half?” Rebecca rolls her eyes. “It was summer camp. We were 16.”

“You didn’t come back next year!” Josh remembers suddenly.

“My mom made me do mock trial,” Rebecca waves it off, recalling suddenly her heartbreak at the prospect of not seeing Josh again, of putting away her dreams of theater. She goes on to explain how she ended up in West Covina, how the instant she stepped off the plane and into the dry heat of the San Gabriel Valley she felt like glitter was exploding inside of her.

The door opens again and more of her friends flood into Home Base, laughing and smiling as if Rebecca’s world didn’t just almost implode. Hector stands to the side while White Josh introduces Josh to Darryl, who introduces Paula, who laughs as Heather rolls her eyes and introduces herself.

“It’s so cool to meet everybody!” Josh grins, “And see you all again. New York was so lame compared to this.”

He launches into a story about a pigeon trapped in a subway station that made him so late to work he almost lost his job, drawing everyone in with earnest faces and wide hands, and almost everyone laughs.  
  
“I’ll buy everyone’s first drink,” Rebecca says, to break the ice. She bumps her hip against Greg’s, grinning, “And you can have any milkshake you want.”  
  
Her friends cheer, shuffling off to find a table that’ll seat her entire little family. They’re still talking about it, swarming Josh with questions and explaining how they all met each other. Valencia gives her a quick look as she follows after and Rebecca knows they’ll have to have a conversation about this later, but she also knows they’re stronger than this.

“You okay?” Greg asks her, once everyone’s gone. “This situation is just… Remarkable.”

The way he says it makes her know he wants to say literally any other word.

She turns to look at him and is honest when she says, “Yeah. I’m doing good. Really good. I’m excited to get to know who he is now, you know? I can’t wait to be friends with who he’s become.”

Greg stares at her for a long second; she can sense his insecurity, always second fiddle to Josh, always abandoned by the women he’s loved, so she leans forward and presses a kiss to his lips.

This is better than that feeling that camp gave her when she was 16. This is better than the rush of first love. This is better than holding onto something from a decade away. This is security and warmth and understanding and passion and devotion and tenderness and friendship and respect.

This life she has isn’t a fairytale, but it’s something she never thought she could ever possibly deserve.  
  
This? This is what happiness feels like.

**Author's Note:**

> I was really conflicted about Greg and Rebecca! Just because she's sincere and interested in him doesn't erase their communication issues, and Greg's alcoholism and inherent cynicism, but I figured, as she settles in, Rebecca would become more confident and realize she needs to speak her mind when Greg's words hurt her.


End file.
